In the End, We Are Alone
by WordsConsumeHer
Summary: It's one thing to have to face the end alone, it's another to be abandoned by your lover in your time of need.  An agonizing car ride home full of silent reflection and a request for forgiveness.  HP/DM AU ficlet


_Disclaimer: Anything recognizable from the Harry Potter universe does not belong to me, but to J.K Rowling and a bunch of really rich publishers and film production companies. I make no money from writing this or any other fanfic. _

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

I stare straight ahead, refusing to look away from the lines in the road. The reflective paint glistens under my headlights, dashes of amber on the dark asphalt.

My breath escapes my body in a long hiss. It's an unexpected sound, and I find myself surprised that it passed my own lips. "You don't get to be sorry." I tell him.

He doesn't because I won't allow him this moment of attrition, not after what he's done. Or rather, I suppose, what he hasn't.

Street lights illuminate his platinum blonde hair as he hangs his head and fidgets with the buttons on his cuff. I hate that shirt. I'm not sure why it irritates me so; it's a uniform, it's not like he chose it. For some reason, the way it loosely hangs off his slender frame insults my very being. He looks like a child playing dress-up.

I wince at the thought and flick my eyes back to the road.

We _are_ children playing dress-up. We walk around, clothed as adults like it's some kind of costume. Every day, we wake up and assume our roles; it has become natural. Shower, coffee, commute, work. Lather, rinse, repeat.

It's not who we are, though.

We are silly children who decided that it was time to put childish things away. We packed up our toys and our sense of fun and ran to the altar. We bought a flat, and a dog, and we made lots of silly promises.

I promised I would stay with him forever; he promised for better or worse. Apparently neither of us meant that.

I still remember the phone call from the doctor's office, telling me that they didn't like the look of my test results. I took the information calmly, on a small pad of paper that had some realtor's information on it. I don't remember the agent's name, but his hair was too perfectly coiffed and his teeth shone as if slicked with Vaseline. I could never take someone like that seriously enough to do business with them. Yet here I was, scribbling phone numbers and information underneath his ridiculous headshot.

Draco had never even looked at the note, as if ignoring it would somehow mean that it wasn't real.

I check my blind spot and change lanes.

It _is_ real. It's too real. I've been sitting in waiting rooms by myself for two years, reading shitty magazines and medical pamphlets to pass the time. Alone, I've endured the painful, terrifying tests and the depressing drives home from the hospital. At night, I have lain on my side of the bed and wept myself to exhaustion while he pretended to be asleep because he was too scared to do anything else.

Now, in the passenger seat, his blue eyes flicker up to my face as he takes a deep breath. "I'm scared," he tells me.

I laugh a low mirthless laugh and shake my head. "Don't worry, _darling_," I tell him coldly, "You don't have to worry your pretty little head about it now. I've faced it all alone for years, I'll face the end alone, too."

He shakes his head, "You don't have to," he tells me, "I'm here now." His voice is pleading, and it makes me angry.

Yes I do.

It's just one of many things I've face alone in my life; I grew up an orphan, after all. I spent years in an abusive home with my maternal aunt and her fat, raging husband who locked me in a cupboard under the stairs for years until I started boarding school.

The thought of school fills me with a wash of strange emotions. It was the first place I had learned the meaning of friendship, no thanks to the husband currently sitting directly to my right.

Honestly, how could I have ever been so stupid? How could I have possibly thought that the rich little shit from school that tormented me relentlessly would make a good husband? That he could ever care for anyone more than himself?

I snort quietly, causing his head to snap up in confusion.

I don't acknowledge his gesture. Let him wonder.

Droplets of rain start to spatter my windscreen. Honestly, could it get any more fucking cliché than this? Do these things ever happen during a clear summer day, or is it always a dark and stormy night? Why am I even thinking about this?

I suppose I need to think about something, even if it's as stupid as the rain falling on my windscreen. I turn on the wiper blade and slow to a stop at the red signal.

This is the last turn before home.

Can I call it home anymore?

Will it _be_ home without him?

The car pulls into the drive almost automatically; I'm not entirely sure how we got home. I don't really remember much. Just as I turn the key towards me and make to move it from the ignition, I notice a strange sound is coming from the passenger's seat.

I look over to see Draco sniffling. Shiny silver streaks are running from his eyes down his face and collecting in the crease of his nose before dribbling down towards his full pink mouth.

He makes no effort to hide his tears and I try to remember the last time I saw him cry. Probably not since his godfather's funeral over a decade ago, I figure. Draco is very good at hiding his feelings; I used to affectionately call him an ostrich.

Now I just want to drag his head of the fucking sand and scream at him.

I finally pull the keys from the ignition, but not before he can rest his hand on my arm and beg me, through a series of snuffles, to talk to him.

"There's nothing left to say," I inform him, quietly, reaching for the door handle.

His grip tightens on the sleeve of my burgundy jumper. "Don't give up on me, Harry. Please. I love you. You don't have to do this alone." His voice is cracking, unsteady

I pry his fingers off my arm before opening the door and sliding out of the car.

The sound of two car doors clicking shut is followed by his pleading voice.

"You don't have to be a hero!"

The raindrops collect on my glasses as I stride towards the house not bothering to look back over my shoulder.

"Death is but the next great adventure, Draco. "


End file.
